The Way We Touch: or Wrangling the Wide Receiver (The Bradford Boys)

We’re winning every game, and all eyes are on us. There’s talk of us winning the Big Game, and we’re all buzzing with anticipation.

Ricky is chasing after me hard in the rankings, and every now and then I hear a commentator saying he’s going to catch me.

He’s not. Grizz and I are unstoppable.

I celebrate our wins briefly with the guys, but I have a one-track mind after every game. I want to see her smiling face, hear her enthusiasm, see her waving her hands while wearing my jersey, then see her sexy body come undone for me.

The guys who had high school girlfriends act like I’m trying to recapture something I lost in my youth, but I’ll tell you. If I’d had a girl like Dylan cheering for me in high school, we’d have been just like her parents. I’d have never let her slip away.

She’d have gone with me to college, to the pros. We’d have had five children—at least. Hell, I’d probably keep her pregnant. My life would be so different.

As it is now, we’re just getting a late start.

“You should’ve heard the guys when you made that final score. Even Craig was yelling his head off. I’m surprised we didn’t wake Kimmie.”

“The Peanut wasn’t watching me?” Ever since she put her little hand in mine and shared her jalapeño encounter, we’ve been tight.

“She fell asleep.” Dylan makes a disappointed face. “Kindergarten is hard work.”

“That’s okay. I understand.” I’m feeling so good right now.

She sits on her bed in my jersey, and I’m buzzing with the win and with seeing her now and thinking about how I’ll see her again in just a few more weeks.

“The sports guys say your stats are making history!”

“The sports guys?” I can’t help teasing her.

She laughs. “Whoever they are!”

I don’t bother filling in their names. “Yeah, they say that, but they’re also talking about Ricky catching up with me.”

“He won’t catch you.”

I love the confidence in her voice. I love knowing she’s there, watching every game, supporting me.

I also don’t want to spend the whole time talking about me. I want her to know I care about her career, too. “How’s it going with Mia?”

“I didn’t tell her about the possible audition. I mean, it might not happen, and I don’t want her obsessing over it like I would’ve at her age.”

“I think you made the right call.”

“Otherwise, it was pretty much the same. Some guy showed up asking a lot of questions about the restaurant and spicy food and Coyote Ugly.”

My brow lowers. “Was he trying to steal my girl?”

“No!” She falls back with a laugh. “Now that I think about it, he might be one of those undercover restaurant reviewers. I’ll have to tell Craig if we see him again to be on our best behavior.”

“Just give him one of Thomas’s burgers. You’ll get a Michelin star for sure.”

Rolling onto her side, her whiskey eyes turn deep. “I saw your hand. In the middle of my brother hauling you all over the field, you were thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you, Deedee.”

“I wish I could kiss you right now.”

“I wish I could put my hands under that jersey.”

“I wish I could get on my knees in front of you like I did at your apartment.”

“Fuck, that was hotter than one of your peppers.”

Our conversation takes a sexy turn, and before long, we’re flushed and sweaty and sated—or as much as we can be from a thousand miles apart.

We don’t say goodbye. Instead, we fall asleep with our phones on our pillows. I talk to her until I hear her breathing become slow and rhythmic, and I know she’s asleep. Then I close my eyes. When I wake in the morning, my iPad is dark. I hate it, but I know what I have to do.

I have to put my head down and work, practice, play. I talk or text Dylan every chance I get, but I’ve set my goal for this season. I have to stay focused on accomplishing it.

My numbers are improving every week, and she’s right, I’m setting records. But “the sports guys” are right, too. I’ve got players on my tail, and this is a competitive field with athletes out to beat me.

If this is going to be my year, I can’t let up on training, so I push myself every day, not even taking our optional days off.

I’m doing this for us and our future, because I want to be with this beautiful girl, and I’ve got a plan.

Thanksgiving is just around the corner. I’m in the gym with a bar across my back doing squats when the door slams open, and Garrett barrels in like a raging bull.

His hazel eyes are shooting fire, and I straighten, letting the heavy bar drop to the cushioned mat with a crash.

“What the fuck, Logan?” He shoves his phone into my chest, and I take it from him.

Swiping my finger again and again, I shake my head. “What is this?”

“That’s what I want to know. Did you talk to these assholes?”

I tap the top of the screen and I see it’s the feed of Too Much Information, TMI for short, one of the most notorious gossip sites on social media, and one of the meanest.

“They’ve got pictures of the two of you on your balcony.”

“The fuck?” I scroll quickly to the bottom of the story where they posted a grainy photo of Dylan on her knees.

I’m sitting in a chair with my head tilted back, and a blur bar is across my lap where her head is located—when she gave me the best blowjob of my life.

“What the FUCK?” My voice goes louder. “They can’t print that without permission. How did they even get it?”

There’s a reason I live on the top floor in one of the tallest buildings in Midtown. Privacy.

“I don’t want to talk about that.” He snatches the phone back, reading the caption. “Trust-fund baller Lightning Murphy might be setting records, but it won’t stop this gold digger from sucking him dry.”

Heat flashes through my chest and neck followed by cold. My ears roar, and I’m moving. I’m not even thinking. My phone is out, and I tap the numbers on the screen as I push through the door.

“Where are you going?” Garrett follows behind me.

“Tell Coach I have a family emergency.”